There Goes That Man and His Kite!
by Dewdropzz
Summary: "Society... people, as individuals and how they interact." Ben Fitzgerald is just your average 46-year-old guy who decides one day to defy an unspoken but perennial rule of society by flying a kite in a busy Neopia Central park. His actions, though simple and innocuous, will impact those around him in ways he never thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

_**Kite thumbnail image by the wonderful Rabbit (chasing_stars44)**_

 **Hey Neopets Fanfiction community! I've been told you're really small, and not that active. I won't judge you before I've gotten to know you myself. ;)**

 **"There Goes That Man and His Kite!" was written for the "In the Sky" Neopian Times collaboration week, aka issue 794. Originally intended as a short story, this nine scene report of a socially-concerned man and his little red kite took on a life of its own, involuntarily growing itself into a three-part series — two chapters and an epilogue. ^^**

 **In the published version of this story, several lines and words have been changed or omitted by the editor of the Neopian Times. I think she thought these parts were too mature, too satirical or abrasive, or simply too "un-Neopian" for the Neopets website. Some lovely people have asked me to post the original version someplace else so that they can read it in all its unaltered glory. xD To those who asked, here it is! And if any of you are stumbling upon this story for the first time, I hope you enjoy it! I hope you enjoy reading at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it. :D**

* * *

I bought myself a kite today. A red one, just a normal, diamond kite shape, with a long red tail. The Neopia Central Toy Shop had other, fancier kites, shaped like Beekadoodles and Droolik, famous villains and heroes and weird multicoloured box conglomerations, but I thought the simple, traditional red kite might stir up nostalgic thoughts of picnics and memories of childhood and whatnot.

The shopkeeper tried to direct me toward the more 'elaborate' ones.

"I've sold quite a few of those Kazeriu kites," I was at the checkout counter when the orange Lupess said this. She pointed behind me to a gigantic, almost freakishly realistic replica of a Shenkuuvian petpet pinioned to the wall, its massive wavelike tail ready to catch the wind or the unsuspecting eye of any innocent passerby. "I bet your kids would love one of those!"

No doubt about it, any kid over the age of eight or nine would be in awe of the magnificent, majestic, teal and purple beast. Any younger than that and they would run away crying, nightmares sufficiently fuelled for the next week. I told the shopkeeper yeah, my kids would definitely be all over it. If I had kids.

"Oh, so you mean..."

Of course the auburn-haired lady's first response — a reflex, I'm sure, like recoiling your hand from a hot stove — was to ask if the kite was going to be a gift. I don't know if she meant to say it or if her augmenting curiosity just bubbled out her mouth. After all, why should she care who purchases her merchandise, and for what purpose?

I gave her a cheerful _nope!_ , sounding like a little boy, possibly on purpose, probably giving voice to her perception of me at that moment. I almost said 'Hopefully' or 'We'll see', but I really am too old to be trying to be cryptic and cool. And I ought to be too mature to enjoy trying.

The name's Ben Fitzgerald. I'm a brown Ixi, in case that's an important detail I should include. I'm forty-six, an age that could be considered the beginning of the climb to the top of the hill, or the primrose prime of life, depending on who wears it. Or at least I will be in a week, eight days to be exact. I count the days until my birthday because it makes me feel young.

I don't have kids — I wasn't just fooling with the shopkeeper. What I do have, however, is enough to keep me busy. It's a particular interest in society, a hankering to learn about _people_ , as individuals and how they interact, how they view others and how others can influence them. I have a notebook where I will be recording my findings, and, now, I have a red kite.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, will be my first flight. My area of focus: a well-visited park in Neopia Central. I haven't flown a kite in years...

This should be fun.

••••

 _28th day of Relaxing_

 _Day 1_

Neopia Central in the park is Neopia Central at its finest. And a Neopia Central park in summertime is _fineness_ incarnate. It's a flourish of green leaves amid steel city blocks, rolling grass that wipes out all memory of concrete when you walk through it in shorts and feel the blades brush against your shins. It's a light read on a park bench, a quiet afternoon under an oak tree disturbed by screaming children. It's cherry popsicles and frisbee, Hubert's Hotdogs in a cart, lemonade and softball games, the smell of flowers and other people's lunches; and the continuous, humming, thrumming buzz of a thousand voices, a thousand people enjoying the same idyllic day in the same idyllic place, carefree conversation intermingled with birdsong.

Did I make it sound beautiful enough? I love me a Neopia Central park in the summertime.

I set my backpack down on the ground and unzipped it. I travel lightly: a cold bottle of water wrapped in a thermal ice pack to keep it cold, some money for a hot dog later, and my kite.

I attached the string — apparently they don't come already attached. Fortunately the breeze favoured me today and all I had to do for the initial take off was let go, no running or flinging my entire being into the wind required.

Once it was up there... I didn't feel like I was on the ground anymore. I don't know how to explain it (My eloquence is limited to the sensory description of parks), but, with my eyes glued to the simple piece of red fabric, watching as it lifted and plummeted and swayed in the breeze, realizing that its every movement depended on _my_ every movement — well, mine and the wind's — I almost felt like I was... up there with it. Like I was the pilot and not just the ground control. I had this weird vision in my head involving my soul leaping out of my body, sliding up the string and into the kite. But I know I'm going to cringe reading this back later, so I think I'll refrain from, uhh, further elaboration.

I stood there for a few minutes, just holdin' on, getting the hang of things. A few Neopians nearby watched me. It's hard to miss a bright red diamond in the sky, a red fish in a blue sea, a red bird with no wings but one heckuva tail. People smiled. People pointed. But it wasn't my pretty kite that was the object of all their attention. It was me.

Neopets who walked past made comments about it being a perfect day for kite flying, or the like. One guy, a shadow Kougra around the same age as me, chuckled and asked if I was having fun. I told him the truth: Yeah, I was having a lot of fun.

An old couple, a squat royal Mynci and a lanky silver Nimmo, were the first Pets to come up and make conversation with me. I knew it was only a matter of time. When a person does something deemed unusual by the public in a public place, people naturally gravitate toward them. The 'unusual one' is a magnet, and human nature can't resist the pull.

They came strolling down the path, hand in hand, stopped under a tree, sipped their beverages which were probably iced coffee and stared at me and my kite very intently for several moments. Then the wife, the Mynci, ventured to approach the alien being, her Nimmo husband in close pursuit.

"Good for you!" were the first words they greeted me with, issuing from the Mynci's wide and self-assured mouth, "getting out on a day like today and flying a kite! More people should be like you." I could've asked what this meant, but if I had it would have been purely for the sake of saying something. I knew she thought I was strange — probably something to do with the complete and utter, glaring lack of children with me. If I'd at least been in the company of another adult I wouldn't have looked so singular (No pun intended). But it was the fact that I was by myself. It magnified my strangeness.

She seemed to like this strange, though. She seemed impressed with it. "Just thought I'd try something new," I nonchalantly replied.

"Nothing keeps us young like trying something new! As you get older, your brain starts to atrophy. Shaking up your life by trying new things can stimulate the brain, and forestall the degeneration of tissue."

...Wow. She had intended this as a compliment. I think?

"Well, hopefully this kite will save my brain from going to _total_ mush." I'll have to remember to note this on my 'Hugest Insults that are Supposed to be Compliments' page. Couldn't she at least have waited five or fifteen years to allude to my impending senility?

The Mynci smiled complacently, as if to say, 'It just might save you yet!'

Meanwhile the Nimmo husband had been shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand and peering up at the sky, a glimmer of quiet fascination over his otherwise stoic face. "In Shenkuu they have a whole festival for this," he said at length, extending a long, skinny Nimmo arm in the direction of my kite.

"Yes, the Shenkuu Kite Festival!" chimed The Charmer. "We saw it on our honeymoon, and pretty soon we're going to be seeing it again. Let me tell you, it is simply stunning."

The couple proceeded to tell me about this Shenkuu Kite Festival; the experience on their honeymoon forty-five years ago which was unforgettable, and their joy and brimming anticipation at the prospect of their trip to Shenkuu booked for next month — just in time for this year's festival!

"Well, I hope it's every bit as incredible as you remember it."

All the while my kite swirled and danced higher into the sky. The wind was strong and true.

The Mynci's name was Anne and the Nimmo's name was Philip. Anne was the talker — she spoke in a loud voice, she apparently knew something about everything and she wasn't shy about sharing her vast expanse of knowledge. We all know people like Anne. Philip was quiet as a Miamouse. His sentences often trailed off, leaving them for his wife to finish. He seemed to be perfectly content to allow his wife to take the floor, but he got his two cents in too, occasionally, whenever Anne would let him.

I'll admit I was kind of on my guard against Anne after the, um, striking first impression she made, but overall I enjoyed talking to the elderly couple. It was easy to infer that my kite was a symbol to them, of youth and a partnership that would transcend the ages, and a lifetime of love. It was an honour to know that something _I_ did could evoke in them such positive thoughts.

When it was time for them to head home to cook dinner, they said they hoped to see me again.

"Will you be here again, doing this?" Anne motioned to the turning plastic handle in my fists, constantly paying out string.

"Oh, yes, I'll be here every time it's windy."

Ha, I think they took it as a joke.

••••

 _1st day of Swimming_  
 _Day 2_

It was an even busier day at the park this Saturday. It was busy on Wednesday when I was there, don't get me wrong! But on Saturday the families flock for some good ol' fashioned summer fun. Mom and Dad are off from work, kids give their babysitters and day camp councillors a break, and babysitters and day camp councillors come to the park to seek solace in a herd of friends their own age. I watched a little Kau tyke's mouth gape open today when he _literally_ ran into his swim teacher engaged in a game of football. The teacher was the one playing football, that is. And honestly, I'd bet 100k it was the teacher who ran into _him_.

I made my home base in the same spot as Wednesday, dropped my backpack, unzipped, drew out the kite. The wind wasn't as strong this afternoon, thus I needed a running start. Around me, three families had set up picnics: one west of me, one east, and one, uh, northeast. Children giggled and pointed, adults turned quirked eyebrows to one another and nervously urged the kiddies to keep eating. All of them let their ice cream melt, their sausage go cold, and the ants help themselves to their meals the moment Ben Fitzgerald ran by.

Johnny, don't look!

After finishing his al fresco supper, a boy, a spotted Gelert around eight, came bounding up to me, huge smile spread up to his eyeballs like the ketchup on his face. "That looks like fun! Is it?" He looked at me almost pleadingly.

"Yes it is fun. The wind's being a jerk, though."

The boy stood back and watched the kite, craning his neck no matter where he moved under the big sky, as the red diamond trembled at the end of its string every time a stronger gust of wind came, only to take a sudden sharp drop and come plummeting to the ground when it died down just as quickly.

"Shoot!" It crash-landed right near the northeast picnic. The family made their best efforts at being inconspicuous as they all cowered to the far end of the blanket.

"Can I try flying it, sir?" asked the Gelert pup, the inexorable excitement of disrupting someone's dinner pushing him over the edge.

"Well, alright," I said with a totally feigned tone of reluctance, like he was bothering me. Why? I don't know. Trying out the grumpy old man facade, I guess. "...because you were polite and called me 'sir'."

The total ecstasy was manifest in his person as he gripped that plastic handle; the pleasure, the delight, the wonder and pride as the kite soared higher and higher into the marbled blue and white sky. Nature must have looked upon that little boy and favoured him.

"I'm good at this, aren't I?"

"Yes you are!" I exclaimed in honest amazement, craning my neck like he did, and with just as little success. "You're great at this!"

"Marcus?"

"Marcus!"

" _Marcus!_ "

"Uh-oh..."

The child had been missed. The young sprout had snuck away from the picnic while no one was looking. But now Mama had discovered where he'd gone...

Marcus ran to his mom, beaming wide. He turned around and looked at me, and she looked too. Then the mother walked away, the child slowly, remorsefully following. The family packed up their picnic, and in a few minutes they were gone.

If I had been a kid, the mother wouldn't have said anything. If it had been twenty or fifty years earlier, or if we lived in a small town rather than a metropolis like Neopia Central, she would have come up to me, introduced herself, 'Nice to meet you Mr. Fitzgerald. My son likes your kite.' But in this day and age no one trusts anyone. Maybe with good reason.

In every concerned parent's defence, if I saw a man all by himself flying a kite, I'd be clinging to my children's hands too. Stay away, ya weirdo.

A trio of middle-aged women sauntered by, stared hard, scrunched up their noses and concluded none-too-discreetly amongst themselves that I must be 'challenged'.

I'm challenged, alright! If they had any idea what a challenge this is turning out to be...

••••

 _4th day of Swimming_  
 _Day 3 (sort of?)_

The sky was dark and grey when I arrived at the park this afternoon. It had been overcast when I left home, and I thought, _Cool, I haven't flown it on a cloudy day yet._ But a few minutes after I'd taken the kite out and set it to the wind, the clouds became ominous. The air was thick and damp, the kind of day when you feel like drying off with a towel even though you're not wet. You could smell rain, you could feel it before it started.

The winds started to whip. The few Neopians still around stopped what they were doing, fun come to an abrupt standstill, and made a speedy escape to shelter. An electric Ogrin walking his Dogelfox raced down the paved pathway just as the first raindrops started to fall, heavy-soled shoes pounding on the concrete.

No one noticed me in the tumult. When the storm starts, the primary concern of most is to get number one and family to shelter.

Though it might have been fun to fly a kite in the rain, thunder showers bring lightning, and my last name's not Franklin.

••••

 _5th day of Swimming_  
 _Day 3 (really)_

Happy birthday to me,  
Happy birthday to me,  
Happy birthday dear Be-en!  
Happy birthday to me!

When I read this back on paper it sounds way better in my head than it does when I sing it in real life.

It was a much nicer day at the park today! And no, it didn't just feel that way; not just a reflection of the joy in my heart, kinda thing. What better way to celebrate your forty-sixth birthday than by flying a big, red, happy kite? Amiright?!

I stopped at the Coffee Cave on the way and treated myself to a much-deserved chai frappe. It was kind of hard to hold onto the frappe and the kite handle at the same time, especially when a two-hand-demanding gust came along, but behold, I managed.

I found myself a different home base this time, a spot atop a little knoll — not quite a hill, or not a _big_ hill, more like a raised piece of ground, an earthy platform. From such a vantage point (O such a vantage point!), I could see more of the park than ever before. I could see the different paths and the way they intertwined; the paved concrete and the flattened grass paths and the Neopians who used them, walking, walking Petpets, riding bicycles.

Three teenaged boys — young teenagers, maybe in their first year of high school, a green Lutari, a checkered Grarrl, and a water Kyrii — came tramping my way, and settled down beneath a tree right at the bottom of my mountain.

"Dude, look at that," I overheard one of them say. When I heard the next part, I realized the kid had no flippin' idea how loud he was being. "Playtime in the geriatrics ward!"

"What the-?" The Grarrl, who had been leaning against the tree, sat bolt upright. "Is he totally by himself?"

"Yeah man, he's alone. Lonely old grandpa?"

"He doesn't seem to mind being alone," joined the Lutari. "Chris saw him the other day. Same thing, all by himself flying a kite."

"He doesn't look like a grandpa. He looks like my dad's age." This was the Grarrl. "Do you think he's some kind of kook?"

"Dude, that's a legit kook, alright," chortled the Kyrii. "Look at the smile on his face!"

As the boys had fun at my expense, my smile grew and grew. Why? I don't really know. Maybe just the satisfaction of listening in on a conversation they had no idea I could hear. After going strong for a few minutes, the cute remarks eventually lost their novelty. My kite rose and fell, rose and fell. And every time it would fall I would bend over and pick it up, and toss it into the sky again. The whole time the kids watched me.

The Grarrl looked particularly intrigued.

"It's cool how it just stays up, eh?" the large boy muttered pensively. Almost to himself, it seemed.

"What?" choked the Kyrii. "It keeps falling every time the wind stops."

"Yeah, but it flies pretty good when the wind's blowing. I haven't flown a kite since I was a kid."

"And what are you now?"

"A man, dude."

The conversation went on. It jumped around from 'How does a kite fly, anyway?' (They wanted to know the science behind it. Wind? Pah! Layman's terms!), to the different types of kites, to 'Who invented the first kite?' The in-ter-ested checkered Grarrl was the one to initiate each of these topics.

Then, something happened. The intuitive, benevolent hand of fate intervened, and the kite took a nosedive right in front of the boys' tree.

The Grarrl timidly picked it up and handed it to me. "Here you go."

"Thanks!" I beamed. "Hey, I couldn't help but notice you've been kinda watching me for a while. How would you like to try flying?" I held the handle out to him, gave him my best reassuring smile.

I wish I had been taking pictures and sticking them in my notebook all along, because no words I could use could ever do the bewildered, sobered, appreciative look that came over that young boy's face justice.

He took the handle from me, climbed up to the top of the hill, and I gave the kite a running start, throwing it into the breeze. The Grarrl's friends soon joined us.

"Bro, it's really pulling!"

"It's like fishing, right? Geez, you're letting it get away!"

"Reel it in! You don't want to lose it."

"Dude, it's dragging me down!"

Though they addressed each other almost exclusively as 'dude', 'bro', and 'man', I learned that the Lutari and Kyrii's names were Grayson and Matt, respectively. The Grarrl introduced himself as Ryan. Ryan, King of the Clouds, we called him. He pretended to hate it. Pretended.

I don't know if they still believe flying kites is for children, or kooks, or whatever. I don't know if they ever truly believed it, or if each one just wanted the others to believe they believed it. All I can say is that running around with those kids was the highlight of my birthday. I was the first one to end the fun. If I hadn't had plans to go out with my buddies tonight, or if I'd thought they'd be more understanding of my breaking them, I'm pretty sure all of us would have stayed longer.

••••

 _9th day of Swimming_  
 _Day 4_

In the morning everything is different. Have you ever noticed? When we get up early in the morning, it's usually because we have to be somewhere. We drag ourselves out of bed, go through the motions of our morning ritual. Then we either trudge or run out the door, groggy and resentful of the hard fact that work/school/wherever we're going demands our presence _this early_ ; otherwise we're hyped up on a caffeine buzz, jittery, filled with apprehension at the truly terrifying notion that we might be late. Have you ever thought about it?

I have. And I'm as guilty as any. As often as possible though, I try to 'observe' the morning — not necessarily slow down, as that's not always possible, but I try to take notice of the shadows, the dew on the leaves (It's really there, if you look! Not just in poetry!), the Spyder webs that'll be gone long before noon, the worms on the sidewalk, the birds in the trees, the cool in the air, the imbuing silence and calm; drink it up, take it all in.

I had to experience at least one morning at the park. Seven a.m. I rolled out a bed, pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans to protect against said morning cool, toasted a bagel to take with me and was at the park by seven-thirty. I got there way too early. There was hardly anyone around. I sat on the knoll, the one from a few days ago, and ate my bagel all alone, with no chair or even a coffee. Clearly I could've planned this better.

At around eight o' clock, though, the sleepy park began to wake up. First the Petpet walkers, then the elderly commenced the crawl of casual strollers down the paths. On the grass appeared families with preschool-aged children. It seems the morning is the domain of the very old and very young.

The sun climbed higher, the air gradually warmed, and the shadows stretched, strange to think in a few minutes' time they'd be gone almost completely. A runner came sprinting my way, along the flattened grass path next to my knoll. A woman, a Poogle in jogging attire, blonde ponytail swinging, the position of the early sun betraying streaks of grey. When she got closer I could see her fur was cloud. She looked like she could very well have fallen from the sky.

I had the kite up by this point. When she noticed it, the oddest, most disquieted look came over her face. She went pale.

"Good morning," I called out to her first. I normally let them approach me, but... well, she was obviously on her way to say something.

She watched for a moment, then she slowly started to make her way up the hill. But now that we were three feet apart, she didn't say anything. "Perfect day for a kite fly," I initiated. It's the first thing most adults say to me, so...

She smiled and nodded. She stood back and looked up. Though plotting the trajectory of her gaze, I'd say she wasn't looking at the kite.

"I'm sorry," the woman spoke at last, her voice coming out in a shaky, apologetic almost-laugh. "I was just... reminiscing, I guess. My son..." She paused. I waited. "He loved kites."


	2. Chapter 2

The Poogle's eyes were of a deep, deep indigo; very large, round... I've got to say, they were unlike any eyes I've ever seen. It wasn't just the colour that gave them their depth. They looked like ponds. I would say oceans in respect to their size, but I've never been to Mystery Island and seen the waters that are so clear they reflect your mirror image back to you. As she looked up to the sky I could see the red kite shining duplicate in her eyes.

"Ah, everybody loves kites. At some point in their lives," I chuckled.

Then the ripples started in the ponds. Had I been the one to throw the stones?

She turned away. I think she was pretending she'd heard something behind her. Then she turned back and said, "I'm sorry," once again. "I'm supposed to be past this stage by now," she uttered with the same weak, tremulous laugh.

All at once, I put two and two together. "I...I'm very sorry," it was my turn to say.

She shook her head and smiled, as if shaking it off. Then she stood there for a minute, and just watched. I didn't say anything further and neither did she.

When the moment of silence ended, the Poogle was the one to break it. "So what's your story? I mean, what is your personal connection with kites? It's not every day you see a grown man out by himself flying-" She checked herself, dropped her gaze to her feet. "Sorry, just... you know."

I smiled down at her. She was short. "Stop apologizing."

What could I say? Weirdly enough, no one had ever dared to ask me this before. Everyone else had been too polite and awkward — 'Johnny, you don't ask a man a question like that!'

"It helps me to think," I said quickly. "To clear my head." Just then the wind stopped suddenly and the kite dropped. I ran to the bottom of the knoll where it landed, bent over and picked it up, turned back to her and shrugged.

The Poogle giggled. "Ahh," she nodded now, denoting perfect understanding. "Well I can see how it would help."

Looking at the woman's face up close I could see she wasn't a child, though I suppose the streaks of silver in her long blonde ponytail had already given that small fact away. She had fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, whether from laughing or frowning I couldn't tell. I'd guess she was in her early to mid forties, but she could have been younger. Having talked to her for only five minutes (having _stood near her_ for five minutes I should say, as most of that time had been spent in silence), I could see the world of trials she had been through in the seemingly recent past play out in her every mannerism. Nothing ages a person like sorrow.

"You know, we used to always do this, my son and I. We'd come to the park in the morning — he was always an early riser, you know how young kids are... We'd go to the park and fly kites. His favourite was always a red one, just like that. That's why when I saw you, you... kinda gave me a start." She made a motion like she was brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face, but I didn't see any such strand. She dropped her gaze and laughed that same heartrending laugh, and said: "But why am I telling you all this?"

"Because you wanted to tell someone," I answered. I knew she knew this, and _she_ knew she knew it too. She just needed to hear it from somebody else. "Hey," I ventured, not wanting to push her too far. But thinking she wouldn't mind. "What was your son's name?"

Her indigo eyes widened; she drew in a breath slightly. I'd caught her off guard. But she did tell me. "Jackson."

"What do you say we fly this kite so high Jackson can see it?"

The ripples started in the ponds again, only this time they spilled over, like waves upon a shore. "Okay."

I put the handle in her trembling hand. She gave it all the string she could give it, and the biggest upward gust I've ever seen carried the kite almost out of our view. In this life, I don't believe there's such thing as coincidence. That had to be a miracle.

••••

 _10th day of Swimming_  
 _Day 5_

Two windy days in a row! Actually, it was lucky I decided to go in the morning yesterday, as by afternoon the winds died down. No wind equals no lift, equals no purpose in my going out, obviously.

I decided I'm going to fly my kite from the knoll from now on. I seem to have better luck there. Not that I believe in that kind of thing, but... I flew from the knoll on my last two excursions, and my last two excursions were wonderful. Up on Mount Fitzgerald, so high above the world, I meet nice people and have a lovely time. Down in the valley it's lonely and people look at me funny.

I'm kidding, I'm kidding! To be honest, I didn't really notice anybody cocking their brows at me today. True I wasn't actively on the lookout for it, but usually I'm aware of a constant, vague feeling of being watched, scrutinized; the shadows whispering, the bushes giggling, the buzz of the thousand voices resonating with a common question: 'What the (Your Word Here) is this dude's drift?'

It's like the air around me is percolated with a sense of restless curiosity — whimsy maybe, suspicion probably, appal for many, or even danger for some it would seem! Neopia's most infamous criminals would probably kill, quite literally, for an aura like mine! And all I had to do to attain it was fly a kite. The most innocent of actions arouses the most vehement suspicion. Society and its idiosyncrasies never cease to amaze me.

Today was different, though. The park must have its regulars, as I found I recognized certain Neopians, and they seemed to recognize me. I didn't feel like a wild Petpet in a cage at the zoo for once. People saw me and acknowledged me just like I was one of the park's permanent fixtures: a bench or a tree, or the birds in the trees or the kids 'Free Arts & Crafts in the Park!' supervisor. I was met with glances and nods that almost translated... _acceptance_. A few people said hello to me; not like the friendly greet a stranger, but like a stranger greets a would-be friend. Some parents even let their children get close to me!

"Perfect day for a kite fly."

"It sure is, brother!"

Under the same tree the three teenaged boys had sat two kite-scapades (Sorry, that was lame.) ago, there stood two Neopets, a Fire Shoyru and a Christmas Draik. The Shoyru was a youngish man with reddish hair, maybe in his middish thirties. The Draik was also male, though I couldn't tell how old he was. He could have been anywhere from his late teens... up. His colouring was Christmas, but he wasn't wearing the clothes, save the sprig of holly on his tail. In place of the red and yellow striped Santa hat he wore a red and yellow striped ball cap. He kept pointing to the kite in what I assumed to be wonderment. His mouth was open.

"It's a kite," said the Shoyru. "Doesn't it fly high?" Then the Draik, who was a lot taller and visibly muscular, clasped the Shoyru by the wrist. He pointed again. "Kite, yeah!"

The tall Pet proceeded to pull the short Pet in my, or rather the kite's, direction. "No buddy, we can see the kite from here." The Draik didn't speak, but he made a loud grunting noise. "Where are you trying to go?" The Shoyru knew full well where his buddy was trying to go.

Eventually either the Shoyru gave in, or the Draik's strength became too much for him. They romped up my little hill, the latter in the lead, still dragging the former by the wrist. "He wants to see the kite," the Dragged One simper-sighed, resigned.

The Draik made that same grunting noise: "Gllllth," it sounded like. He was grinning from ear to ear.

I realized then that the Draik was one of those unique individuals who experience the world differently than other people. We have several words and terms for them. The world tries to lump them into categories, all organized cut-and-dry, slap a name on the whole lot and call it a diagnosis. All too often these people seem to wear their diagnoses like name tags, or like a subtitle that goes with their name so that they become 'John Smith with Such-and-Such Disability'. Sometimes you have to spend a day with one of these extraordinary individuals before you start to think of them as simply 'John Smith'.

The Draik stood with wide eyes fixated on the pretty red diamond for a long time, and he would have stared longer if the Shoyru hadn't broken his trance. "Okay buddy, let the man fly his kite in peace."

It was as if the Draik just noticed there was something at the end of the kite's long string, holding it down. There was a shiny black handle and attached to the handle was _a brown Ixi_! When did he get there?!

Then something happened that I've gotta admit I wasn't expecting. The Draik tried to wrestle the handle from me.

"Joseph, no! That's the man's kite! You can't do that!"

Joseph the Draik wasn't purposely violent. He certainly had a lot of strength in those big hands of his though, and a heaping helping of determination to match it.

"You want to fly it? Here, you can fly it," said I, letting go of the handle and allowing him to take it.

His Shoyru social worker looked at me with an expression of supreme, astonished gratitude. "Oh, no, you don't have to give it to him."

"It's no problem!" I assured him. "It's not like he's going to do damage." And of course right at that instant the wind decided to be cute and spirit the kite sideways, drop it for a second, catch it, tug at it and make it writhe like a fish on the end of a hook before giving up on the sucker altogether. _Crash!_

Joseph froze glaring at it for a minute, then he frantically started flailing and making terrible noises of distress. "It's okay, buddy," I tried to console the panicking Draik, "we'll just wait for the wind to come back."

"Really?" muttered the Shoyru, more to himself than to me, I would think from the way he said it. This guy was bewildered by my generosity.

"Really. Well, I'm not gonna just send him away without him even having a chance to fly it."

And so we waited. As it turned out it was another quarter of an hour before the breeze came back strong enough to lift the little kite. In the meantime, Kevin (that was the Shoyru's name, I would learn later) and I got acquainted. Yes, he was Joseph's social worker, and I learned the name of Joseph's 'irregularity', though it didn't mean anything to me.

All the while Joseph was keeping himself amused with an ant hill he had discovered. His sharp eyes caught them first, even from his lanky vantage point, then he knelt down on the ground and zeroed in for a better view. He tried to pick them up. He was surprisingly gentle with them.

When the wind finally started up again (I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that it actually did — phew!)... ha, it was well worth the wait. You should have seen the look on that guy's — that innocent heart of a child disguised as a man's — face when at last the red bird took to the blue sky. It was like a ray of sunshine.

Believe it or not, I spent the whole afternoon with Kevin and Joseph. I can barely believe it myself, the time went by so fast. Joseph was completely enthralled with the kite — I couldn't possibly have just packed up and sent him on his away. When people like Joseph get their minds set to something, it's best not to deprive them of it unless it's absolutely necessary. I had nowhere else to be.

And so the winds came and went, came and went throughout the day. Kevin left once to get coffee for he and myself, and for Joseph chocolate milk, his favourite. Joseph even spoke to me a bit, in his own funny way. I learned that he'd been painted Christmas this past January, just after Christmas. Christmas is his favourite time of year, you see, and he hated the thought of letting go of it for another eleven months. He wanted to keep it all through the year. I also learned that he loves the colour green because it reminds him of all fresh things that grow, and that he wishes he had a Puppyblew "because they're nice Petpets". Kevin says maybe one day.

O that the whole of Neopian existence could be like Joseph! To derive such pleasure, such enchantment from something so small. To be blissfully impervious to the cares of the world, for our foremost frustration to be a kite that won't stay in the sky! My thoughts turn now to those three women who saw me flying my kite the other day, and said I looked like I was 'challenged'. If only! To be one of such extraordinary people is to be young-hearted, blameless, and happy — forever. They're the best kind of people, in my humble opinion.

That said, my new friend Kevin has an awesome job. I wish I had thought to go into that field when I was younger. I wonder if it's too late?

 _14 day of Swimming_  
 _Day 6_

A cooler day but sunny, early evening. A Friday, Neopians just off from work for the weekend. There were so many picnics around you had to watch where you stepped.

I was tired today. But not, like, _sleepy_ tired. I felt a little off... Lethargic, I guess. I kinda forced myself to go because it was windy, but my body just felt... heavy. If I'm being honest (which I do try to be), the kite handle was almost an effort to hold. _Maybe I'm just hungry,_ I thought to myself.

The air smelled like barbecue. Boy did it ever smell like barbecue... Next time I do something like this, my thing is gonna be to choose a random picnic, go up and ask the people if I can have some. See how they react.

Tonight they might have actually let me. The atmosphere... I don't know what it was, but something about it seemed different: friendlier, more open, more neighbourly. Maybe people really do recognize me by this point and are used to me, accepting of me, and my kite. Or maybe the shift in the air has nothing to do with me. Why is it that the intrinsic nature of the individual is to believe the world revolves around ourselves?

Oddly enough I saw several other kites in the sky today, flown by the young and old.

"Ben! Fancy seeing you here again!" It was Anne and Philip, the Mynci and Nimmo couple from my first day. I passed them on my way to Hubert's Hotdog cart, and in each of their hands was a plastic handle attached to a string, attached to something nobody knows better than Ben Fitzgerald.

I gave them two thumbs up. "Nice kites!"

They said they were practicing for the fast approaching Shenkuu Kite Festival. I've got to say, the sight did my heart good, perked me right back up again... somewhat.

I settled on the ol' knoll, hotdog in hand. No sooner than I'd gotten Little Red into the sky was I charged by four kids — a spotted Xweetok, a blue Tonu, and two Kacheeks, island and polka-dot; seven, eight, nine, ten, somewhere in there.

"So he is real!" the spotted Xweetok squealed.

"Look how high up it is! It blocks out the sun!" I think this was the Tonu but I honestly have no idea. They whizzed around me like a colourful, yelling whirlwind.

"Are you a spy?" This was addressed to me by the island Kacheek, the taller of the two Kacheeks, the only one standing perfectly still, looking up at me as if she hoped above hopes I'd say 'yes'.

"No," said I. "Do I look like a spy?"

"If he was a spy he'd be painted stealfy," said the small, dotty Kacheek. *Ben translates this to mean 'stealthy'

"If I were a spy I wouldn't be flying a kite in a Neopia Central park."

"He's not a spy," affirmed the Tonu, steadfast in this conviction. Then, conclusively: "He must be working for the military."

"What _military_?" This came out a little louder than I had intended, but hey, their incessant running in circles was frazzling my nerves...

"Maybe Meridell's military. I learned in school that Ixi come from Meridell."

"Wouldn't he be a knight, then?" the Xweetok observed.

"No! If he was a knight he'd be wearing armour."

"No! It's the weekend! They wouldn't wear armour on the weekend, Connor."

I almost concurred with this — 'Yes, this is true. I am a knight, and we (that is, my fellow paladins, Jeran and them) never wear armour on the weekends. We'd hardly be knights in _shining_ armour if we wore our righteous mail seven days a week!' But, well, I couldn't outright lie to a kid. Tempting as it was...

"If you're not a knight, and you're not a spy, and you're not working for the military," here was the big question, put forth by the Tonu, "what are you?"

"I'm an Ixi, as you've already noticed. Just a normal guy flying his kite."

"That's not normal."

"I know."

Where were these kids' parents, anyway?

I was just starting to get dizzy from watching them, just about to ask what all this was about, when one of the quizzical kids (Sounds like a band name, Quizzical Kids... Ah, maybe not.) broke the circle, and the other three trailed behind them down the hill.

It's worth noting, however, that later on I overheard three out of four of the tykes saying they wanted to play hide-and-seek. The fourth, the island Kacheek, said that hide-and-seek was for little Pets and that she didn't want to play. The Tonu, the eldest and supposedly the ringleader, turned around and pointed to me. "He's not too old to fly a kite," he said. "He stands up there every windy day, with no shame. Why should you be too old to play hide-and-seek?"

At that moment I felt like everything I've done these past six days has been worthwhile.

I could have stayed after that. There were plenty of people around who looked about ready to start a conversation. But I was beginning to feel strange again; my head was spinning. And you know what? That hot dog wasn't sitting well.


	3. Epilogue

_23rd day of Swimming_  
 _Day 7_

A week and two days after I last wrote in my notebook, finally I'm picking it up to write again. Where have I been? I've been sick. Really, miserably sick.

It was just a virus of some sort — I won't be graphic. I spent so many hours in a crowded park, in close proximity to so many strangers, I should have known it was only a matter of time before somebody shared their germs with me. Of course, there are few things worse than sickness in summer, especially when it's hot, which it was. For a few days there I swear Neopia Central was in the grip of its worst heatwave since... uh, whenever its worst heatwave was. The air was stifling, and dry, and still. And I was stifled, and not dry, and forced to be still. It was like prison. In Moltara. Or worse. Then it rained once and cooled everything down — hallelujah.

The day after the rain was windy, but I couldn't go out. My virus was prolonged, and honestly, I was too weak to get out of bed. I missed four windy days in total. At first I was antsy, but then I started to think... that maybe this was okay. I had collected sufficient data, I had done what I'd set out to do. Perhaps this was meant to be the slightly-less-than-grand finale of my adventure. Perhaps it was time for me to bring my kite-scapades to a humble close.

But then I realized I would miss it. I already did. It really had been an enjoyable few weeks at the wind's beck and call. I had met so many interesting people whom, through the wonders of something as simplistic and innocent as flying a kite, I had gotten to interact with in different ways and on greater levels than I had ever imagined. It was enlightening, enriching, rewarding.

And besides, what would I do with the kite if I were to stop altogether? Little Red has been part of me for so long (Some of my soul is probably still in the fabric!). I don't think I could bring myself to just throw him- I mean _it_ , away.

The 23rd day of Swimming brought with it a strong summer wind. The sky was deep, deep blue, its vibrance accentuated with the occasional swirl of white, wispy clouds. And when the world looks so darn inviting, and you finally have the strength to _be out in it_ , there's nothing you can do but heed its call.

"Hello!"

"Afternoon!"

"Hey there!"

"Look who it is!"

"Couldn't ask for a better day to fly a kite, eh?"

At the park people played noisy games. There was a notable amount of laughter to be heard, and the myriad voices of friendly, carefree chatter far exceeded the norm. It was like I was surrounded by kids' birthday parties at every angle — except it wasn't only kids who were having fun. Five different people said hello to me as I made my way down the winding park paths. I saw a total of seven kites in the sky.

"Nice to see you again." I had come to my regular spot, was knelt down on the grass unzipping my backpack, when I heard a voice behind me. I turned around to see a pair of crystalline indigo eyes; the cloud Poogle who fell from the sky; Jackson's mom. "The park has missed you."

"Hey," I greeted her with genuinely-felt warmth. It might have been the effect a week and two days of solitude can have on a person, but I was so glad to see her. So glad. I straightened to a stand and turned fully to face her. "Yeah, I've been pretty sick." Totally comfortable, this was the greeting that rolled inadvertently out.

"Sick?" The ponds opened up, like I had only seen once before. They could have swallowed me whole with the expression of candid concern they exuded.

"Just a virus of some sort. Laid me up for a week, though." ...Suddenly it computed what the lady had just said. "The park's missed me?"

She smiled, shiningly. "Rumour has it that a brown Ixi has been spotted here every windy day since the late days of Relaxing, flying a red kite," she reported in practically a whisper, eyes moving furtively between me and my now open backpack on the ground.

"The rumours are true," I said. "Who's spreading them, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A pretty large portion of Neopia Central's population, I'd say!" The Poogle laughed. "My coworkers were even talking about the unusual brown Ixi at the park. I thought the description sounded familiar!"

My mind went back to what those kids had said, so many days ago:

'So he is real!'

'He stands up there every windy day, with no shame.'

So people did recognize me, do recognize me. And my presence has had greater, more widespread effects that I even realized, or ever would have thought. According to the Poogle's words, I've become somewhat of a celebrity! (Or an anti-celebrity. What do you call someone who's famous just because they've done something weird? Though, ha, I guess that's the origin story for pretty much every famous person ever, when you think about it.)

"What else did they say about me?" I asked the Poogle, that inherent childish, praise-seeking brand of curiosity that gets the better of us all, working on me.

"They were just speculating as to what you might be doing," she said. "Some of them had some really crazy ideas... One of them thought the kite was some kind of weather balloon, if you can believe it... Someone else said you were trying to get video footage of the whole park from an aerial view — some kind of 'government scandal'." She made quotations with her fingers.

"And what do you think?" I inquired of Jackson's mom. I wanted to know what she thought of me, honestly. I wasn't going to be shy.

"I know you said you just do it to clear your head."

"And what ideas did you have of your own?"

The Poogle bit her lip, almost apologetically. "That you just want to see what kind of reactions you get from people?"

There was a barrier, once. A wall that separated me from the rest of the park, isolated me, kept me in my own little bubble; a glass room for others to gaze into, though the room's sole occupant was affectedly unaffected by their stares and their knocking on the windows, choosing instead to go about his work in a business-like manner, carrying out his mission, never veering to the left or right... until the proper time would come. It came now. She got me. The barrier had been broken.

"Exactly!" I beamed, and the Poogle didn't smile, like she thought I was making fun of her. I'd met her before, but I hadn't asked her name and she hadn't asked mine. But with the wall's glass panels shattered and once-and-for-all fallen down, I felt it was time the whole park received a proper introduction. "Ben Fitzgerald, Central University, Sociology department."

Veil lifted, the eyes I thought were like crystal were now pure gold, like unto clear glass. "This is a social experiment!" she exclaimed, everything coming together now. "Of course! Of course it's a social experiment!" She threw her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, and laughed mirthfully.

"So, what have you leaned?" she asked me, every iota of hesitation or reserve now washed away. "Or, even better question: what have _they_ learned from you?" Now she was taking a page out of my book, playing the wise, cryptic old sage. "Things have been different around here. They're subtle differences, but they're differences. I don't know exactly what it is, Ben. People just seem happier."

There was no denying this was true, but to think that I was the one to singlehandedly bring about this incredible change would have been the superlative exhibit of egomania. "It wasn't me who taught them, ma'am," I told her," it's what I stand for."

"What do you stand for?" She tilted her head as if perplexed, but there was something reverent in her demeanour that made me think she was ready to hear and believe anything I said.

"I'm defying the norm," I told her. "I'm breaking the restrictions society has set that say a grown man can't play like a child. What's wrong with an adult flying a kite? In Shenkuu they _extol_ it! They have a whole festival for it, for crying out loud! But in our culture it's almost frowned upon, and for absolutely no reason. If you get enjoyment out of something, so long as it's not harming anyone, why shouldn't you be able to do it, and do it freely? If an adult wanted to play tag or hide-and-seek, why shouldn't they? There's nothing weird about seeing guys throwing a football around, or a frisbee. Why are some games taboo for anyone over ten, and others aren't?"

She listened in silence, nodding slowly.

"It's like a testament to the ideology of being yourself. Historians probably don't even know when and why and how these seemingly baseless rules of society came about. Culture does more than shape us; it tries to get us all to conform, so that the masses are one body — which can be great in some respects, but at the risk of totally forfeiting individuality? Society, or whoever or whatever-the-heck makes the rules, would have us all look the same, and talk the same, and act the same... We the people have to fight to retain our right to be different. We each need to create our own, individual 'culture'. Sometimes it can be a matter of one person setting the standard-"

"One person does something out of the ordinary," the Poogle took over, "and if they do it consistently and devotedly, and enough people catch on..."

"They can change a Neopia Central park, frequented by thousands," I finished.

I had let my tongue loose. I hadn't preached my Fitzgerald manifesto _like that_ outside the classroom, ever. But for some reason today the words just came. It was the climax of my mission.

"When one person acts openly," I continued, softening my tone, "without worrying about what others think, other people will — whether it's a conscious thing or not — start to emulate their behaviour. It's like, you know, 'This guy can do it, why can't I?' Sometimes one person's presence, if endowed with enough conviction, can influence the world like... like you have no idea."

"I have an idea now." She grinned, turning in a circle, opening her arms as if to say, 'Look! Look at the world around you!', and embrace it.

We stood and talked. When twenty or so minutes later the winds died down, and showed absolutely no signs whatsoever of coming back, it occurred to me that the Poogle must have had someplace to be.

"No, actually." She laughed that signature laugh, shyness returning. "I just came to talk to you. It was so windy I figured you'd be here. Or I hoped you would be..."

There was still so much more to say.

"Do you like coffee?" was the thought that manifested itself first, and I latched onto it.

"I prefer tea."

"They have tea at the Coffee Cave, don't they?"

"How about something iced?" She smiled. "It's still hot out here."

I'll spare you the details. It was a da- deal.

My new friend's name is Alyssa — a pretty, breezy name, in my opinion, like a breath of fresh air. She told me her last name is Striving, and as soon as I put Alyssa and Striving together I recognized it as the name of a Neopian Times reporter whose articles have been gracing and shaking the 'Around Town' pages to their very core since Year 8, or therein. ...You know where this is going. She asked if she could do a story on me. Actually, what she says she wants to do is _publish_ my whole flippin' report!

I told her yes, yes she can.

I might end up regretting it later, but if I'm planning to continue to fly my kite I know other people besides Alyssa will ask me why I do it. Might as well save myself the hassle of repeating myself over and over by publishing it abroad. Don't know how many people will read it, but...

My kite is a conversation piece. It started as an experiment, but now it is truly soul-invested. It is an object of prejudice, but also ways and means of connection for a community that was once so distanced. It is freedom and confinement, an allure and a repellent. Its significance, in terms of scope and meaning, is subjective; it means something different for everyone. Though for me it is a symbol of individuality, of expression, of the native right to break the mould, and the courage it takes to do so. It is a beacon, a heartfelt invitation for each and every one of us to be who we want to be, regardless of what the world's initial reaction might be.

When I walk down the concrete or flattened-grass paths of a certain Neopia Central park, it makes me so proud to hear the voices around me that no longer whisper: "There goes that man and his kite!"


End file.
